


Couples

by shaunamac



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaunamac/pseuds/shaunamac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello, everyone! My name is Shauna, and this is my first time posting on this particular website. These are all Avengers MCU pairing one-shots inspired by one word prompts, and pairings can be suggested in reviews, as well as constructive criticism and scenarios you, the wonderful reader, would like to see! I hope I don't bother any of ye! And I hope ye enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dance: WinterWidow

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters, locations, or Marvel itself. I wish I did. Then I could just ship everyone together and make a lot of money. Maybe even bring back Pietro. Who knows? Sorry, side tracked! So, yes, to clarify, I do not own Marvel, nor any of the characters or locations specified in these one-shots.

Assassins do not dance. Bucky remembered hearing that, years back, years and years ago. Before his metal arm, at any rate. Some dumb movie himself and Steve went to see. It must've had some form of assassin, because on the way out, some broad made the mistake of expressing her desire to jive with the leading man. "Assassins don't dance, doll!" Her lover had insisted in a haughty tone, his arm slung around her shoulder like a heavy scarf.

It wasn't true, anyway. Assassins danced, or at least, they did in the Red Room. Being silent, agile, and graceful was all part of the trade. And while he wasn't ever gonna be as sleek and elegant as the women in the Red Room, let alone Natasha, he still knew how to dance. And, it became clear. So did she.

He made it clear in his mind. If she ever asked him what he was doing there that day, he'd tell her that he wanted to grab a glass of water. That he was thirsty after training, and out of habit returned to the main kitchen to rehydrate, rather than the fountains that lined the gym.

The music was classical. Not the loud shit that Stark listened to in the labs, but a dainty, breath taking melody, the swell of the violin and the sweet pitch of the piano floating out with haunting flow. Natasha was standing in front of the radio, her back to him, her head tilted slightly to one side. The sight was so familiar, and yet so different. She wasn't with the other girls, nor was she shivering in the tight black leotard. The rays of sunlight shone through the windows, catching her hair and illuminating her in a heavenly halo.

Why the fuck did he do what he did in that moment? Was it muscle memory, or some crap that the therapists came up with? No. Well, it was possible, but those guys told him that he wouldn't be aware of what he did when it came to that stuff. And he knew exactly what he was doing when he placed his glass down. When he crossed the floor without making a damn sound. And when he placed his organic hand on hers, gently, oh so gently.

Natasha turned around slightly, but didn't look up for a moment. She simply regarded their hands quietly. He didn't move a muscle. Hell. He scarcely breathed. She had that hold on him as Natalia Romanova, and she had it on him now, as Natasha Romanoff. Strange, how some things never change. Bucky finally allowed himself to breathe once she placed her other hand on his metal shoulder, light as a feather, and then guided him across the marble tiles. 

Neither of them had to stop to remember the steps. Nor did they laugh, blush, or apologise for the wrong moves they never made. Bucky simply allowed his feet to match hers, guiding them swiftly across the empty room, trying to ignore how pain stakingly familiar it felt to have her in his arms once more.

"You're getting sloppy." She remarked suddenly, curtly. Did he imagine the catch in her voice?

"It's been forty years." He reminded her. Her captivating green eyes fixed on his face, and she responded briskly.

"That's not an excuse." The music stopped abruptly, and she stepped back, breaking the physical bond that had formed between them. "I'll see you at dinner, Sergeant Barnes."

"Until then, Agent Romanoff," he replied softly. As she walked away, part of him longed, yearned, beseeched him to go after her, to go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Because he'd left her. He HAD been sloppy. And if he'd just stopped to take the time to cover their tracks, to make sure nobody noticed, then maybe they could've had a few more years of holding one another in the cold Russian cells, of finding hope and light in the darkness.

Watching her leave, however, he couldn't help but feel the faintest glimmer of hope. Hope that, maybe, one day, they'd be able to meet one another. Discard their courtesies and stiff composure. 

Hope that one day, Natasha and Bucky could continue the ways of Natalia and James.


	2. Treat: ScarletVision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision meet after Wanda returns from Wakanda while Vision is on a mission in Bucharest. Jaysus, I hate these summaries. Do I have to do them? Is it a mandatory thing? Or can I just type anything? I suck at summaries, I'm very sorry.

When Vision returned from the mission in Bucharest, the last thing he expected to register was the scent of cinnamon, burnt sugar and chocolate. He so rarely acknowledged any of his new-found senses, that the realisation that he had them was still jarring. He ran through the process of elimination, and made a logical assumption that one of Agent Wilson's sisters had left them a plate of baked muffins. 

Given this level of thought, he glided into the kitchen with the intention of covering the plate, when he stopped in the doorway. It wasn't a Wilson in there. No. It was Wanda. He felt a strange tightness in his chest, and looked down for a moment, struggling to analyse his emotions and chemical responses. 

"Vision?" Wanda sounded surprised, and he regarded her for a moment, unsure of what to do, nor say, in her presence. She was dressed in an oversized sweater, and thick black tights, which she glided across the room in. Her hair was loose, and her rings were placed to one side.

"Wanda. I didn't... I apologise, I didn't realise you were cooking." he explained carefully, descending until his feet touched the ground. Her gaze remained on him for a moment, and a little smile broke free on her lips.

"I am. Or, I was." she corrected herself. "How was your mission?"

"Successful. Letitia Dominguez is now being taken to a maximum security prison."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Yes." he couldn't leave it like that. As much as he wanted to prepare himself, he couldn't just walk away from her now. "What were you cooking, might I ask?"

"Many things." she replied, pausing for a moment as she checked on the oven. "There was a recipe book in the library."

"Yes, I believe that was an attempt on behalf of Agent Barton to make the base more domesticated." he agreed benignly. Wanda laughed slightly, an uncommonly lovely sound, and he felt a strange stirring motion in his chest as he smiled over at her. Tony had told him some time ago that he was unintentionally funny. Was this a key example of that?

"And is it working?" she asked him.

"It certainly seems to be, now." he agreed softly. When her green eyes flicked up to him in surprise, he felt his eyebrows lift a touch in a similar emotion.

"Would you like to try some?"

"Some?" He felt bizarrely foolish, and tried to gather up some form of logic to try and deduce what she was talking about.  
"Of the desserts." she clarified, gesturing to the window ledge that the baked goods were sitting on. He straightened his posture slightly, placing his hands on the counter, as he'd seen Tony and James do countless times.

"My taste buds--"

"Aren't too developed, yes, I'm aware. Perhaps we can develop them now?" Wanda offered tentatively. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't bring himself to say no. Had it been Tony, or Sam, or Peter, then yes, he might've been able to do it, but not to her. Not to Wanda. And that's how they ended up sitting at the counter, an hour later, eating rhubarb cobbler fresh from the dish.

The thing was, he knew that they couldn't side step around the metaphorical elephant in the room much longer. Otherwise, Vision could've sat with her in the kitchen, eating cobbler, drinking in her beauty until the world ended. But he didn't. Instead, he spoke up, and this time, he did so haltingly.

"Wanda... I truly am sorry, for... For not being of greater help to you." he began quietly. She swallowed a spoonful of rhubarb, and shrugged one of her slender shoulders casually.

"You were in Bucharest." she reminded him, misunderstanding, he assumed.

"That's not what I mean." he told her gently, one magenta hand cradling the dish of cobbler.

"I know." she admitted softly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Vision, you shouldn't blame yourself when you did everything you could."

"I didn't. I shouldn't have let you leave."

"Vision..."

"You wouldn't have been out there, vulnerable, afraid. I might not have experienced those yet, but I understand how they must feel--"

"Vision, stop." Wanda pulled the dish from his lap, moving closer to his side and lacing her fingers with his. "Don't. Don't do that to yourself. You warned me. You tried to stop me. And I threw you through the earths crust." When he was about to protest, her hand flew up, and her thumb rested against his lips gently. "We can spend centuries arguing over whose fault it was. But you saved me. You gave me hope. A reason to fight on and live. A... A reason to become a better person." she added softly, dropping her gaze.

"You already are good, Wanda." he replied quietly. And this time, when she looked up in surprise, he captured her lips in a soft, brief, sweet kiss. It tasted like rhubarb and sugar and spices, and it only lasted a moment, a fleeting, yet memorable moment for the two of them. When he pulled away, Wanda gently moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, caressing it lightly.

"Because of you." she replied tenderly, her voice quiet, breathy, and loving. When she walked away, Vision felt a surge of something good and strong inside of him. The tightening in his chest released itself, and he placed the dish on the side of the sink, a tiny, hopeful smile on his lips.

Maybe everything would be alright, after all.


	3. Sand: Science Bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce calls Tony after spending some alone time in Hawaii. Tony is bitter, following the vague end of what he had hoped was a real relationship. He visits Bruce, who welcomes him, and they return to the arrangements they had prior to the departure of Bruce and the Sokovia Accords.

The phone call had arrived at the craziest, stupidest, most Bruce Banner moment of Tony's entire life. He hadn't expected it. He didn't really think he wanted it, either. Even though, deep down, he really did miss the guy. More than he thought he would. Tony had been in the lab, trying to clear out some of the stuff Bruce had brought in. That was a mature thing to do, right? A sensible, logical thing? All that utter bullshit that Pepper wanted.

So, when the phone rang, and he had a bunch of Bruce's notes stuffed into a drawer, he didn't really consider the possibility that it might actually be Bruce himself. "Stark." He greeted the caller wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A distinct buzzing sound draped the voice that left his phone like a wedding veil, but it was still audible enough for him to know who it was the second he heard the greeting.

"Hi, Tony." Bruce greeted him pleasantly. Hi. Hi. As if absolutely nothing had happened. As if the scientist hadn't cleared off six months ago, leaving the biggest, emptiest fucking gap in his life. As if Tony hadn't spent the last three months crying himself to sleep in a drunken stupor, and the three before it searching every corner of the planet for him. Hi. As if Tony's heart wasn't broken enough already.

"Banner." He forced himself to reply. "You're..."

"Alive." He agreed amicably. "And so are you."

"Yeah." Unwillingly.

"So... To celebrate that, what were you planning on doing?" 

Fucks sake, Bruce. "Drinking and screwing." He replied boldly, trying to show that he truly didn't give a shit whether or not he'd just spent the last three months trying to shut him out, only for it to go down the pan with a phone call.

"Really?"

"Yup. I got this great bottle of scotch waiting for me in the kitchen."

"Tony..."

"What about you? Planning on turning green?" He asked bitterly. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd spent the last six months hoping and praying and begging for Bruce to at least look their way, and now... When Bruce responded, he sounded quiet and a touch bashful.

"I... I actually haven't turned green in four months, now."

"Four months?"

"Yeah. That's why I was calling, I think going to Hawaii really fumed me out." He explained earnestly. "You should come visit."

"Just like that?"

"Why not?"

"Well..." He tried to think of a good reason. One that overrode his longing to go to Bruce and stay with him. Keep him safe. But he couldn't. "Fine!" He snapped, then hung up.

Five hours later, he was walking through the beach, following the co-ordinates like a good little scientist. When he finally reached the agreed rendezvous point, he was wiping sweat from his brow, and had to remove his sunglasses to rub his eyes free of the fresh, salty air. Maybe that was why, when he lowered his hand, he thought Bruce was a mere mirage.

For starters, Bruce now had an incredible tan, and lean muscles, neither of which he really had in Manhattan. His hair was ruffled in the sun-kissed breeze, and he had an easy grin on his lips, one that grew when he walked over to the startled Stark.  
"You made it." He remarked gently.

"Yeah." His throat began to close up, and he dropped his luggage on the shore to embrace Bruce. The second the travelling scientist had his arms around him, Tony buried his face into his shoulder, closed his eyes, and shook silently for a good, long while.

That night, after giving Tony a tour of his new, isolated paradise, Bruce cooked up some fish and vegetables on a pan, and they ate together while talking about the latest progresses in thermonuclear science. Bruce had set up the adjoining room carefully, leaving a jug of cool water beside the bed, fresh linen, and clean night clothes. His own room was filled with books, notes, and geneticists journals that had been sent to him over the months.

Tony had brought a bunch of sleeping medication, herbal remedies, and lavender oil with him, all to try and ensure a few good nights sleep. And he took as much as he could without effectively killing himself, dousing the pillow in lavender oil, playing classical music, drinking water mixed with the herbal crap that Wanda praised so highly. But, like clockwork, he ended up having the same nightmare.

Steve, raising his shield. Bucky, killing his parents with a sick, twisted grin. Steve slamming the shield down with a metallic screech, his face contorted with rage as he tried to force it down through Tony's suit. He fucking hated the suit in his dreams. It was designed to protect him, and yet it only increased the suffocating pressure in his chest...

"Tony!" Bruce was shaking him awake, and Tony lurched up, grabbing onto his sleeve frantically. To his credit, the kind doctor didn't step away. Instead, he moved his hand up to rest on Tony's shoulder. "Tony, Tony, it's okay! It's okay, I'm here..." He assured him gently.

"H-He..." Tony tried to swallow, his throat dry and rasping. "Cap..."

"It's okay..." Bruce soothed him quietly, reaching for the pitcher of water. Once Tony had taken a drink that Banner was pleased with, he set it down, and then stood up. He was about to leave, when Tony stopped him.

"Bruce..." He looked up sheepishly, and attempted to find a good, logical reason for Bruce to stay, other than the fact that he was scared, and he missed him, and goddamnit, but he truly, truly missed falling asleep beside him. Luckily, Bruce didn't need that reason, nor any other justification. He simply turned around and settled on the bed beside Tony. One arm went around his shoulder, and Tony found his head resting against his chest without a single word.

As they laid there, hearts beating as one, Tony felt more at peace. Had it really been a year since they'd last done this? A year since Ultron threw everything to shit? A year since they saved the world and broke apart? He didn't know anymore. All he knew was, Hawaii was a place of solitude and serenity for Bruce. A place that he had no right to disturb.

Maybe, one day, Bruce would find it in himself to return to them. But until that day, that wonderful, joyous day... Tony was perfectly happy in the knowledge that he'd be safe over here, hidden in the green, without turning green himself.


	4. Salt: T'Chilson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes T'Challa to a burger bar under the ruse of introducing him to junk food. His real motive is to get to know the royal Avenger a little better. Hope y'all enjoy!

Authors note: This is dedicated to my wonderful, amazing, brilliant friend, Chels, who turned me into a crazed shipper. Do I regret it? Not one bit! Hope you all enjoy, and as always, reviews are adored and worshipped! Feel free to drop in a pairing that you'd like to see in the collection!

T'Challa was, in Sam's eyes, oblivious to the greasy, salty, sugary delights that hid in the diners of New York City. Adorably oblivious, though he'd never admit it. Not to Steve, not to James, and certainly not to T'Challa himself. But he was still fucking clueless, and it was pretty damn clear that something needed to change. So, when the opportunity arose one Saturday, he seized it with both hands.

  
"Tony needs to restock the freezer, we're all outta food." Sam sniped as he returned from the kitchen. Wanda looked up from the magazine she was reading through with Vision.

  
"There's vegetarian lasagna. James made it--"

  
"I ain't touching it with a ten foot pole if Rhodes made it." Sam replied firmly, suppressing a shudder at the memory of last Thanksgiving. Deep down, he didn't think it would've been nearly as bad, if Thor hadn't left Mjolnir on the toilet seat.

  
"I must admit, I'm feeling rather hungry, myself." T'Challa agreed from the hanging chair, placing his book down on the coffee table. Sam tried to look relaxed, but even Vision noticed the way his face lit up.

  
"I know this place in Brooklyn, does the best double cheeseburger in the country." he suggested, jerking a thumb at the door. "Sound good?"

  
"Yes, yes, lead the way, Samuel!" T'Challa agreed eagerly, grabbing his car keys and heading out after him. Wanda exchanged knowing looks with Vision when they left, which changed into smiles when Sam spoke up outside.

  
"It's Sam, dude. Sam. I don't know who this guy Samuel is, but he ain't me."

  
"Yes, Sam, of course. My profound apologies." he responded with a touch of faint amusement.

  
When they arrived at the diner, Sam was trying to wrap his mind around the bizarreness that was Wakandan cuisine. "So, lemme get this straight. You guys don't drink soda?"

  
"It's processed! But we do have wine, and fruit juices."

  
"Do you guys have beer?"

  
"It isn't native. But my father brought some in a few times." T'Challa looked nostalgic, and Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a warm, kind smile. The king couldn't ignore the little leap in his stomach at the friendly gesture, and chuckled faintly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "But I doubt many of my people would have enjoyed the flavour."

  
"They don't know what they're missing." Sam laughed, sinking into a booth. The waitress spotted him, and broke into a little smile, walking over to them cheerily.

  
"Hello, fellas! What'll it be? The usual, Sam?"

  
"The usual for me, if you please, Nikki!" he agreed good naturedly. "Two bottles of water too, if it isn't too much trouble."  
"You got it! What about you, sir?" The perky brunette asked, addressing T'Challa. He looked up at her in surprise, then over to Sam, his lips parted as he tried to figure out how to respond.

  
"You know what, you might like what I'm having. Take a leap of faith with me, 'kay?" Sam suggested, a charming grin on his lips. T'Challa felt his lips turn up into a little smile, and nodded.

  
"Yes, please, kind lady." he agreed, bowing his head respectfully towards her. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, and she laughed slightly, before covering her mouth instantly and pointing to the kitchen.

  
"Five minutes, guys!" she assured them, before walking from the table. Just as she headed into the kitchen, Nikki turned around and gave Sam the double thumbs up. She approved whole heartedly.

  
"Did I do something wrong?" T'Challa asked, puzzled by her response.

  
"You? No, no! Nah, you're fine, Tee. Nikki's just... She isn't really used to nice guys like you treating her with respect." Sam placed his arm on the back of the bench, the smile lingering as he regarded T'Challa intently.

  
"That's unfortunate. I believe everyone deserves respect." he replied solemnly. As he continued to speak about the equality and fair treatment he strove to provide his people, Sam couldn't help but marvel at him. How the sweet shit was this guy so caring? So compassionate? His father had been killed by a guy who wanted them all to suffer, a guy whom T'Challa had taken in to custody, even when the guy was all set to kill himself. He'd been electrocuted by Natasha three times, if not more, and yet still worked with her, still made her coffee in the morning, like he did with everyone. How the fuck was T'Challa still able to hold his morals, his beliefs, in this world?

  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ramble." T'Challa faltered once he saw Sam was staring at him. Nikki returned with the food; Sam tried to use the steam rising from the plates as an excuse for his red face.

  
"No! No, God no, I wasn't... I wasn't bored, Tee. I just... I mean, you're amazing, dude. You actually challenge Steve in the whole morality side of things." He picked up his burger, ready to take a bite, when he saw T'Challa skewer the burger with his fork, and attempt to cut off a piece. "Tee... Tee, c'mon, man, what the heck are you doing to me?" he groaned, placing his burger down and reaching forward to help him a little. And before anyone contradicts him, yes, this task could've been accomplished very easily without him having to place his hands over T'Challa's to get the better grip on the burger. But he didn't want to do it that way.

  
"What do you think?" Sam asked eagerly, once he'd returned to his own meal to eat a mouthful of the burger. Much to his delight, T'Challa seemed to enjoy it.

  
"I must say, it's much better than what I'd expected!"

  
"Yeah, see? Didn't I tell you? Always trust me, when it comes to food. Sam Wilson won't let you down." He patted his chest proudly and munched on a fry.

  
That evening, when they left, a tradition was set in place. Not one that would pass on down through the ages, but a tradition nonetheless. Every Saturday, they'd reward their hard work with a double cheeseburger, fries, and water down at Chelsea's Burger Bar in Brooklyn. And two years later, a new tradition was set in place. One that both men were proud to proclaim to the team, to Wakanda, and to any asshole that dared hurt the other.

  
Two years later, Sam and T'Challa would celebrate their wedding anniversaries in Chelsea's Burger Bar, with nobody but themselves and Nikki. And, as one might imagine, that was a tradition that they were very much happy to keep.


	5. Clip: Clintasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary of how Clint and Natasha met, and gradually fell in love with each other through their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how amazing it is to see that kudos in the morning! 17 views! I never figured I'd get that many views in a million lifetimes! Thank you all a million times, it means a lot to me! So these next two are going to be relatively serious. There's no pattern to this, the prompts rarely work, it took a week to figure out what the hell I'd do with this one! I hope you enjoy it! Again, reviews are lovely and always welcome!

This is the story of a clip. A very ordinary clip, if you ignore the events that surrounded it. And if you factor in those same events, Clint supposed it was still a pretty normal clip. Perhaps it was the story that went with the clip that gave it all that sappy sentiment. No surprise, really. It was a damn good story, one that he loved telling the kids, and the grandkids, and the honorary nieces and nephews and grand-nieces and grand-nephews..

Hell. He told so many people, whether they asked for it or not, that it became a running joke. Steve was greatly amused by the amount of times Clint had told him the story, to the point that he started to speak in unison with him each time he told the story in public. Fortunately, the archer knew better than to repeat the story when Natasha was around. Otherwise the clip would've been used for its intended purpose on an unintentional victim.

Anyway. The story behind the clip is irrelevant. Made in Chicago, boxed up, sent to SHIELD, and brought out of containment the day that Clint met one exquisite Russian spy. And that, folks, is where our story begins.

"She's good, boss." Clint remarked, walking with Coulson down the hallway as he flicked through the Manila file. Coulson nodded slightly, a grim look in his eyes.

"She certainly is. You'll have to take extra precautions, while you're out there, Agent Barton." He explained.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. This isn't my first rodeo." Clint replied dismissively.

"Trust me, it's gonna feel like it is." Coulson was a clever enough guy, and that was the only reason Clint didn't scoff and walk away from him. "She hasn't killed any of ours yet. But you still need to put her down. She's a dangerous woman, a threat of considerable concern. So... Just don't let your guard down, okay?" He patted his friends shoulder lightly, and they went their separate ways.

Let's push on forward, shall we? Three hours later, Clint was on a rooftop, observing his arrow soar through the air into her thigh with a touch of boredom. Even a little bit of disappointment. The arrow was supposed to knock her down to the ground, stun her, even. It didn't matter, he told himself, but he was lazy, and he didn't particularly relish the idea of chasing her around New York just to put a bullet in her head anyway. It was like ordering a cheeseburger and finding out most of the filling was salad. He was there for the burger, he was gonna eat the damn burger. Why prolong the agony of not tasting that burger?

Damnit. Now he was hungry. And she was still moving. The arrow was now gripped in her hand, and she limped across to the construction site at an impressive speed. Clint suppressed a sigh, and lifted up his bow, jogging down the fire escape quickly. In this case, she was the burger, and this running was the salad. And he didn't fucking order the salad.

When he reached the warehouse, he paused briefly, looking at the ground for any disturbed dust. Nothing. Plenty of dust; no tracks. A frown crossed his features, and he lowered the bow for a moment. A moment that couldn't have been more beautifully timed for his target. The Russian swung down from the rafters and launched her feet into his chest, sending him back into the brick wall. Startled, he lifted his bow to block a roundhouse kick, then caught her in the side with a glancing blow.

She raised her hands, grabbed the bow, and tried to push him back into the wall again, when his foot knocked her injured leg back, and she slid down to the ground. Pulling out his gun, he aimed it at her forehead, removed the safety switch, and waited for a moment.

"Do it." She whispered, staring up at him. He adjusted his grip on the gun.

"I should." he agreed slowly. It wasn't even the fact that she was unarmed and injured. He'd taken down people with more and less than what she had. No. He was unable to pull the trigger for something that ran a little deeper than weapons and wounds.

He would only say it to her and the team, in the future. A future he wasn't aware he had when he holstered his gun and extended his hand to her. The redhead was too surprised to attack, too tired to argue, and simply placed her hand in his. Looping her arm around his neck, he placed his own arm around her to keep her secure, and guided her back to the jet.  
The clip in the gun remained between them.

Three years later, they were in Budapest, surrounded by armed men who just continued to flow out of the abandoned buildings that surrounded them. Natasha had run out of bullets, and was scooping up a few of the unused ones that scattered the ground, when Clint passed her his ankle piece. "You take the right, I'll cover."

"What?"

"I'll cover you, just take the gun and head straight for the church! That's an order, Agent Romanoff." he added firmly, pulling out an explosive tipped arrow and loading it up. He was running low, himself. But he hadn't lost a partner in all his time with SHIELD, and he sure as shit wasn't losing one now.

Natasha stared at him for a moment, her green eyes observing him, drinking in every last detail about him. In much the same way that his own eyes had done to her, so frequently, without him even knowing. Without a single word, she turned around, fired the gun, and then sprinted down through the space that the sniper once occupied.

Clint stood up from behind the car, and let his arrow fly through the smoky air, exploding in the middle of the thickest throng of soldiers. Once the initial blast had started to wear off on the few dozen that remained, he loaded up, and shot the nearest threat, a tall, burly man holding an assault rifle. He'd done pretty well, he thought. In the end, he had two normal arrows left, and three targets remaining. His plan was to take care of the biggest guys with the arrows, and engage the other guy in hand-to-hand combat.

Except he ended up shooting the smallest guy through the heart, when he tried to retreat to the church. And the middle guy, who outweighed Clint by ten kilos, easily, was also shot once Clint realised he was the furthest away. Which left Clint alone and unarmed against a mountain of a guy, who held a hunting knife like a fucking toothpick. Just his luck. Clint raised his bow, but a large, heavy boot snapped it in half. The newly unarmed archer threw his broken weapon to the ground, and aimed a punch to his assailants lower gut.

In retrospect, he recollected as he lay on the ground seconds later, perhaps he should've tried talking to the guy first. There was now a large, agonising gash running down his thigh, that ended just above his knee, where the hunting knife was embedded. Strange. He didn't feel anything as he looked up at the oncoming fist. In fact, all he could think of was Natasha. The way she could flash down a hallway full of grown men and render them unconscious in seconds. The way her hair shone in those perfect red curls. The way she smiled with her eyes, not with her soft, rosebud lips-

Immediately, a gunshot rang out through the air, and the fist dropped like a stone, the assailant slamming into the ground beside Clint.

"Jesus!" he groaned, pushing himself up against the car. Natasha was standing a few feet away from him, the gun pointing at his head. Clint was about to fight back, about to disarm her and restrain her by any means necessary. Then he stopped. He was injured, badly injured, and God only knew how many more of those bastards were hiding nearby. They were alone in Budapest, and he'd only slow her down. "Do it." he whispered.

"I should." Natasha held the gun for a moment longer, then replaced the safety switch. This time, the corner of her lips twitched upwards into a faint, half smile, and her soft hand moved out to help him up. Once he was standing against the car, she wedged her shoulder underneath his arm, and took most of his weight, one arm locked around his waist.

The clip held only three more bullets.

Every good story has a third act. And although this story might not be very good, it certainly has a third act. In New York, five years later, each one filled with dates and unspoken love, the clip was nearly stocked into a spare magazine that Clint flat out refused to give Natasha. The three bullets had spent hours on his work bench, and right at that moment, they were an absolute last resort. The words they held were too precious to end up in some aliens head.

"Fore!" Natasha yelled. He swiftly hit the deck, and she shot the Chitarii behind him, before using Clint's shoulder as a step up to the roof of the car they were taking cover behind. Withdrawing both guns, she emptied the two clips into the fresh throng of Chitarii that crowded around them. When she turned around to request another clip, she was puzzled to find Clint was still on the ground. Only this time, he was kneeling proposal style, and passed her the three bullets with a little grin. There, on the golden surfaces of each bullet, were three words.

 

Natasha, marry me?

 

"Do it." he remarked with a slightly hopeful smile.

"I should." she replied cheekily, a little grin blossoming on her cheeks. And guess what, ladies and gentlemen?

She did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is stubborn. And late. What else is new? Laura learns the hard way that her patience actually CAN be tested, along with her nerves and emotions, during the worlds longest trip to the bakery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: *happy tears* 22 hits! A kudos! You guys are fantastic, you know that? I never imagined my stuff would get this much attention, maybe 2 hits, at most? God, you're wonderful people! Okay, so I found a few other one word prompt sheets, so chances are, once this is all over, I'll be subjecting you all to even more one shots. I'm sorry! If anyone has any ships they'd love to see in here, or any situations (for example, yesterday I displayed what I thought happened in Budapest) that they'd like to see in a one shot, please let me know via private message, or review!

Clint was the kind of guy who was 100% less likely to do something if they were told by someone else to do it. On good days, which were admittedly plentiful, Laura called it sexy and rebellious. On not so good days, which were fortunately a minority, she found it stubborn and ignorant. Clint was eternally grateful for many things in his life, and Laura was certainly one of them.

But I mentioned the decreased likelihood of him acting on a request that was already on his mind for a reason. After all, he didn't receive the name Hawkeye for nothing. He was an incredibly observant man, and as a result of his perception, Clint was naturally inclined to notice and acknowledge tasks that needed to be done.

In this case, he was acutely aware of the rapidly diminishing amount of bread in the farmhouse. Not that he was surprised; they had three kids now, and Nathaniel was at that stage of his life where slices of bread soaked in warm milk was a delicacy. There were moments in his life where he wondered what Pietro would think if he could see his infant namesake. He paused in his current task, which happened to be packing his bag for a mission in Kiev.

It had been almost a year since everything happened in Sokovia. Wanda had started visiting them a lot lately, and that was pretty fantastic, he figured. Over the months, she'd started smiling more, her eyes shining, her laughs a little less polite and more merry. He was glad, personally. Pietro would've been proud of her. He just didn't know how to tell her that. Nor how to tell her that he saw her as a second daughter.

"Honey?" Laura walked into the room quietly, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. He smiled faintly, and returned to the present moment.

"Yeah, babe?" he asked, turning slightly and resting his hands on her wrists. She absently traced her fingers under his shirt, her light, cool touch dancing over the new skin that covered his old injury.

"You think you could get some bread while you're gone?" she asked softly. Part of his brain ticked slightly, and he nodded whilst turning around to fold her into a warm, protective hug.

"Sure, yeah." he agreed nonchalantly. "I'll be home by Sunday, sweetie, I promise."

"Yeah, I know." She replied, poking his side good naturedly. "Nat will bring you back if it kills her."

"Which it won't." He rolled his eyes light-heartedly. "I swear, I don't know what the hell she puts into her coffee, but I want some."

"She's Russian." She reminded him with a grin. "Comes with the territory. Hey, and while you're gone, would you mind--"

"Inviting her to Lila's party? Yeah, sweetie, I got it." He moved to lift up his bag, then looked at her for a moment, drinking in her radiant smile, the way her face lit up whenever they talked about the kids, and the undeniable curve in her stomach. Three months along. Nat had called dibs on the name for a baby girl, and Clint was planning on knitting the team back together with his suggestion for the baby boys name. Laura didn't mind. She chose the middle names, and besides, the first names were always excellent.

(She certainly didn't drop hints to Natasha, whenever there was one she didn't like, over cups of coffee.)

"I'll be back before you know it." He gently kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and his strong, calloused hands cupped her angelic face gently as he leaned in and kissed her lovingly on the lips. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment their lips brushed together, and her hands rested on his shoulders for a moment.

"I'll be waiting." She replied, a little breathlessly after they broke apart. As his family joined him on the porch and waved goodbye, Clint started the engine and waved, a touch tearful himself as he drove away. It was Friday. He was gonna be home in two days. And everything would be fine.

Sunday came and went. Laura waited by the kitchen table, drinking cup after cup of decaffeinated coffee, trying to put on a brave face for the kids. This wasn't the first time it had happened, by any means. But I think we're all familiar with the sinking sensation in ones stomach when the first dark, silky strand of doubt and fear weaves into the mind, coiling around the hope and light you cherished, and drowning them out in a veil of uncertainty.

The next morning, the kids were supposed to have gone into school. But they'd stayed awake the entire night before, waiting for their daddy to come home. All aside from Nathaniel, who was too young to have fully picked up on the growing unease within the Barton's Farmhouse. So she let them stay at home. Cooper helped her bake some bread, Lila stared out the window, waiting patiently for Clint to come home. Laura watched her for a moment, sadly, and contemplated bringing Lila into the kitchen. Busy hands and all those stupid sayings that her own mother came up with. But she didn't.

Friday arrived, and Laura was running on fumes. Cooper was the only reason she'd still been able to walk, at this stage. He made sure she was eating plenty of food, for her and the baby, kept her hydrated, and whenever she was on the sofa, staring at her cell phone, he gently covered her with a blanket. He was growing up so fast... Laura felt like a terrible mother, for not being able to do this for him. For Lila, for Nathaniel. That was her job. Everything she thought, or believed, that didn't matter. She was their goddamn mother.

But the phone wouldn't ring. It had been a week. Seven whole days. She should've been sleeping in Clint's arms five days ago, and now, everytime she looked at their bed, she had to leave the room and find a way of working off her nervous energy. But after a week, hope begins to fail you. Laura couldn't comprehend why the hell SHIELD hadn't called her yet, to give the stupid, mandatory, yet confirming speech about how they were terribly sorry to inform her, but on his final mission, her husband, Agent Clint Barton, had been killed in action...

She didn't want that damn phone call. Of course not. But it would confirm all these nauseating doubts she had. All she could see whenever she closed her eyes was Clint being tortured, Clint lying with a bulletwound in his head, beside Natasha, Clint dying in a fiery explosion... Kiev wasn't normally that dangerous. But this was Hydra. They destroyed, they slunk into every country like an insidious plague, and tore every shred of decency and humanity down to the ground.

By the second week, Laura had taken to sitting with Lila by the window. Unlike her, Lila hadn't lost hope. The window box was covered with pictures of the family, each one holding a woman, labelled as Mommy. Mommy had a round belly, which was labelled Natty/James. The joke there, was that if the entire team came by to visit, Rhodes and Bucky would argue over who the baby was named after. The memory made her smile, and Laura ran her fingers through Lila's ponytail gently.

But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car engine, drawing closer and closer up the lane. Lila sat up straight, eyes wide with curiosity, and instantly bolted off the window seat. Cooper clearly wanted to follow suit, but, ever the gentleman, came over to help his mother off the seat. Once they were outside, the owner of the noise pulled up. A big, intimidating black SUV, speckled with dust and dirt. Cooper was holding Nathaniel, and was under no obligation to run out to the car, unlike Lila, who felt she was entitled to.

Laura quickly stopped Lila, and pulled her back, her hands gripping her shoulders. She didn't cry. She would not cry in front of these men. But the second the door open, she felt her face crumple, and everything good she'd been hoping for began to fade. Please god, she prayed. Let it be Nat. Nat was good with these things, and the kids knew her, and maybe then they could plan for the coming weeks. When she saw the familiar redhead exit the car, and walk up the lane to them, she relaxed slightly, and allowed Lila to run up to her Aunty Nat.

"Is he-" Oh Jesus. "Nat, is Clint, Clint, is he... Is he d--"

"No." Natasha replied softly, shaking her head. "He's okay, he's alive, and he's safe. Alright? I told you I'd keep him safe." She squeezed her hand gently, and then, like a wonderful, glorious beacon, guided them all into the car, and drove them over to the hospital where Clint was currently residing.

This wasn't her first time in a hospital to visit Clint. The nurses nodded slightly when they saw her, and Laura's normal fond exasperation and concerns over getting him a gift were quashed by her overwhelming relief that Clint was still alive. The second they reached the emergency ward, she weaved around a food trolley, and dashed down the aisle, searching for his name. M. Carter, L. Beaumont... C. Barton. She whipped the curtains open, and rushed into the room. Clint was lying in the bed, wearing a gown, and his face lit up when he saw her.

"Laura! Laura, baby! Oh my god--" Before he could continue, Laura had flung her arms around his neck, and his arms instantly went around her waist, holding her close as she trembled and cried in his arms.

Once they were both sitting down, and Nat had taken the kids to get some hot chocolate, she held his hands with tender affection, as he gazed at her for what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes. Shame. He would've gladly stared at her for all his remaining years.

"I got the bread." He remarked suddenly. Her peaceful, serene expression was clouded with confusion, and she sat forward on the seat.

"What?"

"The bread. There was this neat little bakery that made bread that was baked specially for kids. It's in the locker." He explained earnestly. She glanced surreptitiously at the morphine drip in his arm. The reason he was in here was because he'd been shot in the ribcage by a rogue bullet, and so the morphine was being used liberally.

"Baby, if you got shot trying to grab some bread, I swear to god..."

"I love you..."

"Clint?" She tried to sound stern.

"You're a wonderful wifey."

"Jesus, did you actually get shot in the ribs trying to get us some bread?!"

"And you're so pretty..."

"Holy... Clint, you're lucky you're cute."

"I am? Hey! Nurse! She called me cute!"


	7. Fish: Romanogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is hungry. Steve has a hankering for excitement. Enter Natasha, sushi, and wasabi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: You know what's amazing? Like, jaw droppingly fantastic? When you get back home from a pretty rough day, and find 33 hits on your work! Lights up my whole day! Okay, so this one is dedicated to my fabulously funny friends Kels and Hannah, without whom I wouldn't be the mad Irish eejit that I am today! I hope you all enjoy it, prompts are always welcome! I love you all, and have a wonderful Sunday!

Saturday night was take-out night. End of discussion. It was a tradition in the tower, and had continued in the new base. But, as with all traditions, there was bound to be conflict. The same way it's debated which family gets to host Christmas dinner, at the base, it was a bitterly fought war as to which take-out they'd get for dinner. It didn't help matters that Thor and Pietro would end up eating all their own food, then most of the leftovers that weren't snatched quickly enough by the remaining members.

Inevitably, something had to be done. Feeding ten people, as well as Jane, the Barton's, Pepper, Darcy... There were too many people to be fed off the scraps that Thor and Pietro left behind.

So, when the opportunity arose, Steve ended up taking it, without thinking of what the others might do, think, or say. And they had plenty to say on the matter, too.

"Pizza." Wanda suggested at their weekly take-out discussion.

"Nah, we had that last week. What about Chinese food?" Clint asked.

"Screw that, I just spent a damn week in China. I want somethin' greasy. How about burgers from Chelsea's?" Sam asked.

"I'm with Sam on that one." Tony agreed.

"I'd be interested in eating Chinese food." Vision voiced his opinion.

"Oh my god, you guys are ridiculous." Rhodes was shaking his head with notable exasperation. Steve glanced up at him, then over to Natasha, who regarded Rhodes with a withering gaze over the Thai menu. His sky blue gaze swiftly moved to the oblivious lieutenant, and he stifled a laugh. "We do this every damn week, and--"

"Steve doesn't like that word, Rhodie." Tony replied automatically. Steve shot him a faintly amused glare.

"You guys realise that the Internet went crazy with that, right? There's all these me-me's..."

"Memes." The group corrected him collectively.

"Those too! I blame Peter." Steve nodded emphatically.

"How come I always get the blame?" Peter protested.

"Because you're a young hooligan, Pete." Sam pretended to croak. That earned him a little grin from Pietro and Tony.

"We still haven't decided on what to eat. Does that sushi place deliver?" Natasha asked, dropping the menu onto the stack. It wobbled precariously, threatening to send the menus cascading across the counter.

"Nah. Not to us. Not after last time." Peter reminded her. Tony and Thor had gotten drunk and ended up ordering fifty portions of every sushi item listed on both of the menus. Yes. You read that correctly. They ordered from two different sushi bars in the area, and then, when the delivery men arrived, Tony ended up bellowing out the lyrics of "The Final Countdown" while Thor tried to strum Mjolnir like a guitar.

"Fine. I'll go over and eat there." She turned around and grabbed her jacket from the coat hanger. Steve didn't take too long to make a decision.

"I'll go with you." The entire team stopped to give him a variety of looks. Natasha was already out the door, and as Steve shrugged his leather jacket on, Rhodes was the first to speak up.

"She's gonna eat you up, man." he informed the good captain.

"Use protection." Thor remarked. For a moment, he was in the limelight, to which the Asgardian simply responded, "Against him being eaten."

"That's not--" Tony stopped himself when he realised how long that discussion would take. "Jeez, Steve. The last guy she knocked down ended up crying into his pillow for days."

"Knocked down? Tony, it's just a meal between friends." Steve tried to roll his eyes, but a knowing glance from Peter made him stop.

"You're in the friend zone."

"That's right." Sam clicked his fingers in Peter's direction. "You, my good friend, have been friend zoned."

"Jeez... You guys really need to stop watching TV. It's just sushi." Steve made his way to the door, knowing that he'd have to run to keep up with her at this rate.

"Man, you don't even know what sushi is!" Sam yelled after him.

* * *

As it turns out, Captain Rogers certainly did know what sushi was. Once he'd caught up with Natasha at the door, the hostess broke into a bright smile, bowed, and spoke in rapid-fire Japanese to the chefs behind the counter. Steve felt a little flustered, but Natasha assuaged his fears with a raised eyebrow. 

"You're a regular here, Cap?"

"Only place that serves sushi without making me feel uncomfortable." he explained sheepishly.

"They sure seem to admire you." she remarked, leading him to a table.

"Akira is friendly. Plus, I usually end up over-tipping."

"Huh. No surprise there." she replied smoothly, opening a menu and handing it to him. Steve declined it.

"I always get the salmon rolls and wasabi."

"Wasabi. Gee, Cap, you're full of surprises today." She cast a cursory glance down the list of Japanese meals, then closed the menu just as Akira arrived to take their order. She didn't have to ask Steve; instead, she extended her hand to his menu questioningly, and he nodded with a little smile.

"Good, captain!" she beamed, pronouncing it cap-tahn rather than the usually cap-ten that he was so accustomed to hearing. "Very good! And for the lady?" Akira looked over to Natasha eagerly, her sleek ponytail forming a uniform black line that ended just above her shirt collar.

"The unagi, please." Natasha replied politely. Watching Akira leave, she returned her attention to Steve, who was pouring out two glasses of water. "Did you do any tours in Japan?"

"No. Just Germany, a few in Poland... I think I would've been sent to Japan, eventually. If I hadn't gone down in the jet."

"You should ask Stark some time. He has a bunch of partners there, Pepper used to talk to them all the time."

"You were friends with Pepper?" he asked, surprised. They were both powerful women, sure, but Pepper still seemed completely different to Natasha.

"I worked with her, Cap. When I was undercover in the enterprises." she corrected him. "She wouldn't let me talk to them unless she was there with me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a troublesome slut."

"She said that?"

"That's how I wanted her to see me." Natasha couldn't hold back the smile. "Stark loved attention back then. It's changed now. But she still doesn't like me."

"I'm sorry." Steve felt bad for her. One time he made the mistake of calling her Virginia, and Pepper hadn't spoken to him for two days. Tony eventually built a bridge by explaining to Pepper that Steve hadn't done it intentionally, and warned Steve against making the mistake in the future.

"Why? I'm relieved, personally. I hated working for her." she sat up a little straighter as their food arrived, and then picked up her chopsticks. Steve simply used the wooden fork beneath the plate.

"It's a real shame they broke up." Steve remarked, a hint of sadness in his voice as he skewered an unsuspecting salmon roll.

"Don't worry about it. She's with Happy, and Clint and I are planning on setting him up with someone, soon."

"Huh." he laughed once, softly.

"What about you?" she asked, removing an eel roll from the plate and letting it hover near her lips.

"Sorry?" he replied, bemused

"Well, Sharon went to London, she gave you a letter. You're on the market again. Any ladies back at base catching your eye?"

"One. But I'm not pinning my hopes on her. Too much history, I guess."

"Were you friend zoned?" she raised an eyebrow, a flash of a cheeky smile on her lips. Steve went bright red, and tried to come up with a response. Had she heard that discussion? Jeez... She could have, it wasn't beyond comprehension. Was it? But before he could stammer out anything close to a syllable, Natasha had returned her attention to her meal, swallowing the eel roll and dunking another one into the soy sauce.

"You want some wasabi?" he asked suddenly. Akira and the chefs were watching from their perch, slightly amused by their regular patrons fumbling attempts at conversation.

"Sure." Natasha agreed easily, refilling her glass with water.

"Y'know, Tony and I got sushi once. We both got the wasabi, and the last person to take a drink of water--"

"Got to dare the other person to do whatever they wanted. Yeah, I know. He tried to get me to do it once." she grinned. "Who won?"

"Tony."

"What'd he make you do?" she asked curiously.

"Well... Uh, it's pretty dumb, actually, but I had to, er..." he cleared his throat, blushing scarlet. "I had to sing my old theme song everytime I answered the phone for a week."

"Wow." Her grin grew bigger, and he couldn't help but smile back, amazed by the rarity and beauty of her natural, genuine smile.

"Yeah, I know." he chuckled slightly, raising his eyebrows as he divided the portion of wasabi in half. "You wanna give it a try?"

"Okay... And the winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want."

"Mhm."

"Great." she replied coolly. Once they had the wasabi balanced on their forks, Steve counted backwards from three. All the while, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd do if he won. Probably make her download that song on her phone or something. The song that Tony always played while she was in his lab. It was lame, but he didn't have the guts to do anything else. On zero, all his thoughts of what he'd do were replaced by the blinding, eye watering heat of the wasabi, and the view of one stunning Russian right in front of him.

Five seconds passed. Steve was struggling, and could already feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. Natasha seemed perfectly at ease, as if the small scoop of green dynamite in her mouth was simply another stick of chewing gum. Ten seconds. Steve's face was going red, and his throat felt as if there were hot needles trying to push out of his chest through his oesophagus. Natasha scarcely batted an eyelid. Twenty seconds. The second he felt a tear threaten to brim in his eye, Steve groaned inwardly and grabbed his water, slugging it back frantically.

Natasha was laughing, a real, bright, happy laugh that erupted from her mouth and filled the air like bubbles filled with a joyous melody. As she passed over her own glass, he drank it down, albeit slower than he had the first time. When he'd lowered the glass, exhaling slowly, she tilted her head to one side innocently. "I win?"

"You win." he agreed. Way to go, Steve. Smooth move. He just hoped Natasha wouldn't tell Tony about this-- Any and all thoughts of returning home to Tony's raucous laughter were replaced by the sensation of her lips against his. Her eyes were closed, one hand holding his shirt collar, the other resting on the table. Steve allowed his eyes to flutter shut, and opened his mouth slightly. The coolness of his mouth battled briefly against the heat in hers, before blending to form a comfortable balance. And then the kiss ended, and he felt suddenly foolish. "I... I'm sorry, if I did something--"

"No. No, you didn't do anything wrong. Did I do something wrong?" She asked, a little confused.

"No! God, no... You've no idea how long..."

"Oh, trust me. I have a pretty good idea." she assured him.

From that day forth, a word was added to the list of food-related-sex-words that Steve had gathered over the years. In the same way that fondue once meant sex to him and Peggy, and strawberries had once meant no sex for Tony and Pepper, the word wasabi became synonymous with alone time for Steve and Natasha. And as their relationship blossomed into something real and palpable for the both of them, one thing had to be sure.

The Avengers seriously needed to stop associating food with sex.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review, I'm very insecure, and I love hearing from people! Have a lovely day!


End file.
